


Fargo

by Jennie_D



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fargo, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, So this is a weird Fargo thing, just trying to 'write a fargo' I guess, like not 1 to 1 with the movie, or any of the show seasons
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-23
Updated: 2019-08-23
Packaged: 2020-10-01 18:29:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20366182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jennie_D/pseuds/Jennie_D
Summary: Minnesota - 1986Jon Snow isn’t exactly a violent man, but when he hears someone is stalking his sister, he drives to Fargo to hire some protection. Just in case.But after a few misunderstandings and a run in with a local crime syndicate...things get out of hand. Quickly.





	Fargo

This is a <strike>true</strike> story.

_Minnesota Highway, 1986_

* * *

The car trudged through a sea of snowfall.

Jon couldn’t see more than four feet in front of him. He could feel the tires sliding as they tried to keep traction on the ice. He wished he’d had time to wrap them in chains, but winter weather it seems had come a bit early this year.

And he hadn’t had much time to plan for this trip.

The radio, which had been a pop station 30 miles ago, was now wavering between static, a twangy George Strait song, and some evangelical preacher. Jon knew he should flip the dial, but the weather was so lousy he didn’t want to take his hands off the wheel.

Plus his fingers were already shaking pretty badly, so it was likely best to just leave them where they were.

He checked the clock again. Still making okay time.

The storm was getting so thick Jon couldn’t tell which way was up and which was down. It felt like he was driving through an endless flat nothingness.

What time had he gotten on the road exactly? And had he passed that sign before?

Finally, finally, through the swirling ice, Jon made out a fork in the road and a green highway sign.

_MOOREHEAD, MINNESOTA/FARGO, NORTH DAKOTA_

Jon put his blinker on and turned towards Fargo.

* * *

He pulled into a Rodeway Inn, his tires crunching in the unplowed parking lot. He forced his car door open against the wind and blowing ice, and huddled into his parka as he retrieved his tiny suitcase from the driver’s side.

He trekked through the calf deep snow and made his way to the lobby. When he stepped into the warmth he managed to uncurl his shoulders a bit, took off his hat, wiped the melting flakes off his glasses.

But his hands were still shaking so badly that his car keys were jangling like a tambourine. Jon put them in his parka pocket to stop the noise.

He made his way to the front desk and tried his best to put a normal smile on his face for the receptionist.

“And how are you today, sir?” she asked cheerily.

“Oh fine, fine,” Jon said, matching her friendliness. “I’m checking in, should be under Mr. Stomberg?”

She handed him a registration card and a pen. Jon started to fill out his information, and then mentally kicked himself when he started to fill out his real last name. He did his best to scribble a T over the N he’d already written. It looked sloppy, but he didn’t want to ask for a new card.

The receptionist seemed not to notice, or perhaps was too polite to notice. She handed Jon a room key and some brochures.

“Ok Mr. Stomberg, and you're still planning on staying with us just the night, then?”

“You bet.”

When Jon got to his room, he lay on top of the thin motel comforter and tried to even out his breathing. Tried not to think about who he was about to meet. Sure, Mance said this person was reliable, a good bodyguard. But Mance also said the guy had priors. That he'd be willing to do whatever it took. That is what Jon needed. But it made Jon nervous, meeting with an honest to God criminal.

The silence in the room had Jon’s thoughts whirling, so he turned on the hotel TV. He flipped aimlessly until he reached local news. He let the voices wash over him.

“- whether they will go to summer camp at all. Kyra Jensen has more.”

“Thanks Bill. It was supposed to benefit those Fargo-Moorehead children who would otherwise not be able to afford to attend a lakeshore summer camp. But nobody consulted city controller G. Umber-”

Jon flipped the tv off. This wasn’t helping at all. He ran his hands through his short hair. His fingers were still shaking.

He considered just getting in the car and driving home. But he’d gone through all the bother of getting out here. He may as well see this through.

Jon spent the next several hours pacing about his room, drinking cold leftover coffee from the hotel lobby, and taking multiple showers. When the appointed hour finally arrived, he took a moment to take stock of himself in the mirror.

Hair slicked back, his best collared shirt tucked in, mustache trimmed, clean glasses in place. Jon sighed and wondered who exactly he was trying to impress.

He checked the casio at his wrist to double check the time and made his way out to the parking lot.

* * *

Seventeen minutes later, Jon pulled his station wagon into a pothole filled lot. The broken down brick building he was looking for sat next to it. A red neon sign advertised the Jolly Giant Tavern. Half the sign’s letters were out or flickering.

When he walked into the bar, he could tell it was a bit of a dive. Bad hair metal was pounding from the jukebox. Cigarette smoke filled the air. Everything in the place seemed to be covered with a light film of dirt. He almost didn’t want to touch anything, but Jon knew he wouldn’t get through the night without at least one drink to settle his nerves.

He made his way to the bar and stood awkwardly for several minutes, unnoticed by the disinterested bartender. Finally he cleared his throat a bit, then repeated the noise louder when the bartender still failed to hear him.

The bartender looked up and said nothing.

“Uh, could I have a Budweiser, please?”

The bartender just looked at him, face blank. “ID?”

Jon panicked a bit. He hadn’t been asked to show ID in at least three years, and hadn’t been prepared to. He didn’t want anyone in this town to know his name. But what could he do? If Jon refused, he could get thrown out of the bar. And that...that wouldn’t do at all.

He handed over his driver’s license to the bartender. The man gave it a glance. Jon hoped he’d forget it as soon as he saw it.

“Jon Snow, huh? Like the weather?”

“Yep, like the weather.” Jon nervously tapped his wallet on the counter and glanced around the bar, hoping no one heard.

The bartender’s eyes were frosty. “What, you get that a lot or something?”

“Oh, only every winter.” Jon tried for a friendly smile. It fell flat.

The bartender glared at him for a moment, then grabbed a foggy glass and started to fill it. When he gave the glass to Jon, it was almost all foam.

“Two fifty.”

Jon paid with a five, hoping his fingers weren’t shaking too bad. The bartender handed him back change.

“You can, uh, keep that if you forget about the whole Snow conversation,” Jon said nervously.

The bartender's eyes got even colder. “Wow, a two dollar fifty cent tip. You musta hit it big on Wall Street or something.”

Jon looked down and picked up his beer awkwardly. “I’ll just take this then. Have a good one now.”

The bartender rolled his eyes. Jon turned away and started looking for a seat.

_Dammit I should have bought a fake ID before coming here._ But Jon had no idea how or where to get a fake ID.

He sat in the least torn up booth he could find and drank his foamy beer, eyes glued to the door. He glanced down at his casio watch, again and again. Soon the beer was almost gone, and Jon was trying to work out the nervousness in his hands by slowly peeling apart a paper coaster.

He looked at the door again.

_Where is he? Am I in the wrong bar? Did I come on the wrong night? Oh I hope I didn’t come on the wrong night, it’ll be a nightmare getting up here again. I’ll have to take another night off work, and pay for another hotel-_

A giant hand clapped on Jon’s shoulder and he jumped, knocking over his nearly empty beer glass. The remnants spilled onto a brown pair of work boots beside him.

“Oh damn, I’m sorry there, let me help clean that up-”

But while Jon was fumbling for napkins, the boots moved away and their owner sat down in the booth. Jon found himself across from one of the biggest men he’d ever seen. A pair of intense blue eyes stared out from a tangle of red hair and red beard. He was, well, _scary_. Even the wooly blue and white sweater stretched across the man’s chest couldn’t cut the intimidating effect. Jon felt himself gulp.

“So uh, you’re the guy then? The guy I was supposed to meet?”

The big man just shrugged.

“Well Mance, Mance told me I was supposed to ask for a guy called the Giant?”

The big man nodded.

“That’s me. You’re Stomberg?” he asked simply. His voice was a low rumble, accent from a country Jon couldn’t place. Somewhere in Europe, most likely.

Jon nodded. “I uh, I didn’t see you come in.”

The big man pointed behind Jon. Jon turned around. There was a second entrance on the other side of the bar.

“Oh.”

Jon peeled off a particularly large bit of coaster. He had no idea how to continue this conversation.

“So uh, whereabouts is that accent of yours from?”

The big man shifted, his eyes growing darker, and Jon immediately backtracked.

“Sorry, sorry, I didn’t mean to pry. That’s probably not something you tell people. Not trying to start anything, I promise-”

Jon was practically tearing the coaster in half. Suddenly a large muscled hand came to rest on his, stopping him.

“Why don’t you tell me why you’re here?” the big man said, voice surprisingly gentle.

Jon breathed out a small sigh of relief. He took out his wallet and thumbed through it, taking out two pictures.

“So this, this is Sansa Stark. Really good kid, got straight A’s on everything, going to college in the east next fall, think she’s even got a shot at valedictorian. But for the last few months this guy here, this guy has been following her.”

Jon tried not to clench his jaw too hard when he looked at the polaroid of Ramsay.

The Giant picked up the picture, examined it closely.

“So that there is Ramsay Bolton. He’s been calling Sansa’s house, leaving her weird letters on her doorstep, putting gross stuff in her mailbox. There’s all kinds of horrible rumors about him. I went to school with him, he was always doing weird creepy things. I remember once during the Christmas church fair he froze a goldfish to a flagpole. I don’t think Sansa is safe at all if he’s sniffing around.”

The big man looked at Jon over the polaroid.

“So why not go to the police?”

“We’ve been to the police. They keep saying they can’t do anything. You see, everyone in town likes Ramsay’s dad. He owns one of the biggest chains of wilderness supply stores in Minnesota. He’s in the Knights of Columbus and every year he puts on the big Flag Day Pancake Breakfast. There’s a raffle and everything. So he’s real popular. And so the police won’t want to go up against him.”

The Giant looked back at the polaroid. Jon brought up a trembling hand to adjust his glasses. He kept rambling.

“And Sansa, she keeps telling me ‘Jon, I’ve got this handled,’ but I think she needs an extra layer of protection, ya know? To make sure it’s handled. Just in case.”

The big man dropped the polaroid on the sticky tabletop and took a cigarette from his pocket. He lit it slowly, then breathed the smoke out slow towards Jon’s face. He tried not to cough.

He looked at Jon through those intense eyes. It made him extremely uncomfortable. He took a drink from the scant remnants of his drunk and spilled beer.

“Why are you so interested in this girl? You want her for yourself, is that it?”

Jon choked a little.

“No, no! What?! Of course not! Why would you say that!?”

The Giant was grinning.

“So she’s family, then?”

This anonymity thing was really not working out.

“I-I don’t want to say anything about my relationship with Sansa-”

The big man laughed. “Yeah, she’s family.”

Jon looked down at empty beer glass.

“You got the money?” the Giant’s voice asked.

Jon retrieved the wrinkled envelope from inside his parka. He handed it over.

He hoped it was enough. He’d had to sell his TV and his late mother’s wedding band to get it. He didn’t know how he’d get any more.

The big man opened the envelope and flipped through the cash inside. He put it back into his own pocket, satisfied.

“Well then,” the big man said, extending a hand, “it seems we have a deal.”

Jon just stared at the hand for a second. He met the Giant's eyes.

“Just, before we do this, I want to be sure that we’re understanding each other. Mance said you were discrete, and I’d rather this not get all violent if it doesn’t have to. I just, I just want someone who's really going to be able to protect her. Who will make sure Ramsay can't get near. Just that extra layer, ya know?”

The Giant smiled. His smile was oddly patient.

“Don’t worry,” he said softly. “I can be discrete when I need to be. No one will even know I’m there.”

Jon let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. He steeled himself, then shook the big man’s hand. The Giant grinned.

“Well, now that our bargain is sealed, we should celebrate.”

“Oh no, I should just go back to my-”

“Barkeep!” the Giant yelled, smile huge. “Barkeep, get us two shots of vodka!”

Jon’s face burned as the incredibly irritated looking bartender dragged himself over to where they sat. He clunked two shot glasses on their table, hard.

“Any occasion?” the bartender said, his voice full of barely concealed derision.

The Giant seemed oblivious to it.

“Just celebrating with my friend Mr. Stomberg here.”

The bartender looked at Jon, eyes hard. Jon ducked his head, not meeting his eyes.

“I thought your last name was Snow?”

Jon put a hand to his temple and screwed his eyes shut, wishing with all his heart that this moment would end.

The Giant seemed to take this as a cue. “Names, they don’t matter, eh? Now here, keep the change.”

The bartender left, suspicious eyes still on Jon. When he was finally back behind the bar, Jon let himself breathe.

The big man was chuckling. “So, you’re using an alias with me, are you?”

“I didn’t, I wasn’t...I’ve never done this before.”

The Giant snorted. “No need to tell me that. Well, since I know your name, Snow, I’ll give you one of mine. Though you must promise not to tell anyone.”

Jon looked up, met the big man’s eyes. Somehow the intensity there suddenly seemed kind.

The big man winked. “Some friends call me Tormund. So, why don’t we drink together. As Tormund and Mr. Snow.”

Jon found himself almost smiling for the first time that evening. “It’s Jon,” he found himself saying.

“Well then, Tormund and Jon.” The Giant...Tormund...clinked his shot glass with Jon’s and downed it in one gulp.

Jon moved to copy him. As the liquor burned down his throat, Jon found himself thinking that this Tormund seemed like an ok guy. Maybe this whole messy situation would work out after all.

**Author's Note:**

> So I'm already working on many many projects, so I don't know how far I'll continue this one, but the ida popped into my head last night and I couldn't let it go. Here's a photoset for it on my tumblr too! https://tormundjonthings.tumblr.com/post/187202477243/jormund-fargo-au-st-paul-minnesota-1986-jon


End file.
